


Eight Kisses

by toesalignedarch



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: 8 Kinds of Kisses, Basically 8 glimpses of Runaan and Ethari's relationship, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23336272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesalignedarch/pseuds/toesalignedarch
Summary: slow, drawn out kisses,goodbye kisses,morning kisses,spirit kisses,sudden kisses,neck kisses,nose kisses,frustrated kisses(or, 8 glimpses into Runaan and Ethari's lives as husbands)
Relationships: Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Runaan/Ethari
Comments: 37
Kudos: 218





	1. a slow and drawn out kiss

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this post](https://lotors.co.vu/post/173953180369/types-of-kisses-i-slow-and-drawn-out-kisses/amp) from tumblr user yaangchen :)
> 
> we love our elf husbands!
> 
> as always, kudos and comments are very much appreciated :) plus, come say hi on [tumblr](https://toesalignedarch.tumblr.com)!

_Slow and drawn out kisses. Where neither wants to let go. Warm and passionate._

* * *

“I can’t believe it.”

At the sound of his husband’s slightly hoarse voice, Runaan finally stirs. “Believe what,” he asks, eyes blinking open to take in the sight of his beloved leaning on the doorframe that connects their bedroom to their bathroom, an affectionate smirk dangling from his lips. With great difficulty, Runaan manages to stop his gaze from traveling any lower—rationally speaking, they’ve done enough for one night. (Irrationally speaking, there’s no such thing as ‘enough’ when it comes to Ethari).

“My eyes must be deceiving me,” Ethari continues, his teasing smile never leaving his face. With steady steps, he makes his way back to the bed, a damp towel in hand. “For surely that can’t be the mighty Runaan _lounging_ in my bed?”

Runaan snorts and rolls his eyes as Ethari joins him, kneeling at his side. “I’ll gladly go _lounge_ somewhere else,” he quips, but despite his flat expression there’s no anger in his tone.

“I’d like to see you try,” Ethari murmurs. He runs the warm cloth across Runaan’s stomach and thighs, relishing in the soft sighs escape from Runaan’s parted lips. “You must be quite sore.”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” Runaan mutters mutinously from beneath him. “You’re not the boss of me.”

Ethari swats his arm lightly. “But I am your husband.”

“Hm.”

Satisfied, Ethari tosses the towel aside and lays beside his lover, propping up his head on one elbow. He gazes adoringly at him, smilingly gently. Runaan raises an eyebrow, and Ethari answers with a kiss. It’s slow, drawn out, a simple union of two halves, but never lacking in passion; Runaan’s body is warm and pliant against his; the press of his bare skin along the entire length of Ethari’s body is intoxicating.

When Ethari moves to pull away, Runaan leans in after him for the briefest moment before his eyes glide languidly open again. He knows his face is flushed, but he doesn’t care, not when Ethari lifts the blankets and tucks him so tenderly beneath the soft fabric. Seconds later, Ethari’s back is pressed to his chest and Runaan snakes an arm around his waist. He hums contentedly, sated and safe.

“Sleep, moonlight,” Ethari whispers redundantly into the darkness, and Runaan obeys.


	2. a goodbye kiss

_Goodbye kisses. The realization and the look in the other’s eyes of letting go. Tears running down cheeks and hands ghosting cheeks_

* * *

Runaan sees the question in Ethari's eyes and answers before the other can even voice his concerns. 

"I'll be fine, moonlight," he murmurs, cupping Ethari's chin. A thumb traces the marking that trails down his cheekbone, swiping gently along the faint purple lines. "There's no need to worry."

Ethari's eyes crinkle at the edges, brows still drawn up anxiously.

"I know, I know," Runaan assures him. "Look, love, I’ve got my bowblade right here. I’ll have my team right beside me this time.”

“But—”

“Ethari, please.” Runaan’s voice is soft, pleading. “I can’t stand to see you like this.”

“I can’t stand to watch you go,” Ethari whispers back. He pulls his husband into his arms, assassin armor and all. Ignoring the rough leather that rubs against his exposed arms, Ethari tucks his face into Runaan’s neck and breathes deep, relishing in the familiar scent of his beloved. “Not after what happened last time…”

He feels Runaan sigh, then a soothing hand is snaking around his waist and holding him tightly. “Last time was a fluke,” Runaan rumbles. “I’m better now, see?” Runaan peels back and shows off his left arm, on which snakes a spindly scar. “It won’t happen again, not with this bowblade— _your_ bowblade—with me.”

Ethari sniffles, eyes unable to leave the lightning shaped scar that flows up Runaan’s forearm like pale veins. “What if it doesn't work—”

“Hey," Runaan protests with a small smile. "I happen to care very much for the elf who made this for me, and I won't stand for any smearing of his name or reputation."

Unable to stop the laugh rising within him, Ethari chokes it out in a painful hiccup. "Seriously, Runaan, but—"

"Look at me.” Runaan shakes him, startling Ethari out of his trance. He stares into Runaan’s bright turquoise eyes. “Tell me, Ethari, do you doubt your craft?”

“Never,” Ethari responds automatically. He’s spent too long as an apprentice, put in too much time to doubt that one of his pieces will fail in the face of adversity. The glowing recommendations of any Moonshadow elf were proof enough.

“See? I’ll be fine.”

There’s a tender love in Runaan’s eyes, a gentle smile gracing Runaan’s lips, and Ethari bends down to capture it. He can feel the corner of Runaan’s mouth quirk upward as the assassin returns the kiss, giving yet determined. When they part, a single tear slides down Ethari’s cheek, following his markings like a track. He has no words to say, but Runaan seems to understand anyway.

“Don’t worry, moonlight. I’ll be back before you know it.” Runaan murmurs, kissing the crest of Ethari’s cheekbone.

Ethari knows what’s coming next, and braces himself for it. The worst part about watching his heart leave for missions is the anticipation of waiting for him to emerge through the protective spells, but the second worst part is hearing the words Runaan always says before he leaves. _Just in case_ , Runaan had told him after he said it the first time, _because I am under no illusion of the danger into which I willingly walk_. Ethari gets it, and he hates it.

“Goodbye, Ethari.”

When Ethari opens his eyes, Runaan is gone.


	3. a morning kiss

_Morning kisses. Waking up next to your significant other and pulling them up and capturing their lips to yours._

* * *

Warm sunlight filters through the feather light curtains that billow gently in the morning breeze. Beside him, Ethari grumbles and turns in his sleep as a variety of birds awaken and begin their songs of greeting. Runaan allows his eyes to remain closed for a few more moments, mind blank and heart at peace. It’s still early; he can tell because the hustle and bustle of the shops have yet to reach the typical drone that reaches its peak once the sun fully rises over the tops of the trees.

With a sigh, he opens his eyes and blinks a few times to clear the film that blurs his vision. There’s a satisfying crack of his spine as he twists, finally resting on his side to stare lovingly at Ethari, who’s sprawled on the bed like he’s trying to win a contest of who can take up more space on the mattress. Unable to stop himself from smiling, Runaan takes in his husband’s unlined face, the slack jaw, and the decorative horn cuffs that still adorn his horns. Runaan chuckles softly, reaching an arm over to unhook the ornamental portion of the cuffs and sliding them from Ethari’s horns. The jeweled cuffs are hefty in his hand, and he’s surprised that Ethari even fell asleep with them still on. Then again, last night’s ceremony was absolutely exhausting for Runaan, who had spent most of the evening in Ethari’s shadow as the smith spoke for the both of them.

Placing the cuffs aside, Runaan rolls back onto his side and tries to reconcile the peaceful elf before him with the magnetic elf from last night. They’d shown up to the ceremony together, both dressed in their finest. At their arrival, the other attendees had greeted them with cordial welcomes, but the dimly lit venue and throng of elves were enough to set Runaan on edge. At Ethari’s request, he’d left his preferred weapons at home, opting only to carry a small dagger under his belt and a pair of throwing knives tucked into his boots—but these wouldn’t have been enough in the event of an attack.

Ethari, having sensed his husband’s discomfort, knew what to do. With a reassuring hand on the small of Runaan’s back, he maneuvered them to the edge of the lofty room, giving Runaan a few moments to sweep the area with sharp eyes. Then, slightly mollified, Runaan allowed himself to be walked toward the center of the ceremony, where elves of high status were mingling and nibbling on delicate moonberry tarts. From there, Runaan remained by Ethari’s side throughout the evening while the smith took on all the questions and small talk. By doing so, Runaan was free to monitor the scene for threats—after all, it _was_ the perfect opportunity to take out both the Moonshadow assassin leader _and_ the Silvergrove’s best craftsman in one go.

A shrill screech from outside the window startles Runaan from his thoughts, and rouses Ethari from his slumber. With a groan, the smith yawns and stretches, smacking his lips as his eyes peel open.

“Oh,” he says in surprise when he notices Runaan staring at him.

“Good morning,” Runaan says with a smile. He leans forward and captures Ethari’s lips in a slow kiss. Ethari sighs happily, wrapping his sleep heavy arms clumsily around Runaan and pulling him close. Despite the taste of the previous night’s sleep lingering in their mouths, Runaan is content to run his hands through his husband’s tousled hair—at least until Ethari’s stomach grumbles and they break apart with lighthearted laughs. Runaan blinks through the curtain of long white hair that has fallen over his forehead, feeling a glowing, saccharine warmth spreading through his body as Ethari beams up at him.

“Good morning indeed,” Ethari murmurs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Runaan’s ear with nimble fingers. “Feel free to wake me up like that anytime.”

Runaan rolls his eyes affectionately. “Sleep well?”

“Very well, thanks,” Ethari manages through another yawn. “Moon above, I’m parched.”

“I’d bet.” There’s a pause as Runaan hands his husband a glass of lukewarm water. “Thank you, for last night.”

“Mm,” Ethari tries to speak with a mouthful of water. Instead, he manages to dribble all over himself and the blanket. With a sheepish smile, he swallows then tries again. "You know I don't mind doing all the talking, especially if it means I get to tell everyone about your feats and victories since you won't talk about them yourself."

Runaan takes the empty glass from Ethari's hand and quickly places it back onto the nightstand before either of them can crush it beneath their bodies. "I'm merely doing my job," he says plainly. "Why would I brag about doing merely that which is expected of me? Rhetorical question," he adds when Ethari opens his mouth to argue. "Still, thank you, Ethari."

With a small sigh, apparently deciding that it was far too early to start bickering, Ethari stares into his eyes. “Anything for you, moonlight. No need to thank me.”

“And yet, I’ll continue to thank you.” Runaan drops a quick peck on Ethari’s forehead before throwing the slightly damp blanket from his body. “Come on,” he says, patting Ethari’s exposed thigh as the latter protests the sudden change in atmosphere. “We’ve got things to do today.”


	4. a spirit kiss

_Spirit kisses. Light and feathery over the face. Small and quick. Running out the door after._

* * *

It’s one of the few days Runaan has during which he doesn’t have much to do. His training for the week is done—he’s learned that his trainees need at least a day’s worth of recovery after sparring against him—and despite the thawing snow and budding grasses that indicate the much anticipated arrival of spring, he can’t work on repairing any part of his home; not until the ice has completely melted from the roof, lest he repeat what happened last year. His hip twinges at the memory of losing his footing and colliding with another devilish patch of ice on the ground. His pride has never fully recovered.

Runaan sighs. His attempts at outlining a new training regimen for his newest batch of recruits is going poorly; all he has to show for a morning’s worth of brainstorming is a few sheets of crumpled paper littered on the table and the floor.

“Bah,” he mutters, sweeping the trash into a bin in a fit of frustration. He glances around the house, wondering if there’s something— _anything_ —he can do. But no, all the daily tasks have been taken care of, and even Ethari’s collection of his favorite pieces that dangle on the wall have been polished.

What’s worse is that Ethari isn’t even home for him to bother. In fact, Ethari _won't_ be home for a few days, as he and his guild were traveling to a marketplace over the hills to sell and buy goods. The thought of being alone in this house all alone with nothing to do is almost enough to make him wallow in despair.

Runaan jumps at the sound of the front door slamming open. As if summoned by his thoughts, Ethari, dressed in his typical blacksmithing garb, bursts through the doorway and jets up the stairs with barely a hello. Sounds of frantic searching—the tossing of bedsheets, the slamming of drawers—resonate from their bedroom. Concerned and slightly puzzled, Runaan walks cautiously to the foot of the stairs.

“Ethari?” he calls.

“Hi, moonlight,” comes Ethari’s breathless response. “So sorry to barge in. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything important?”

“No, I’m simply wasting our paper and my time in futile attempts to do some planning." A loud thud indicates that something heavy has hit the floor, and judging by the accompanying swear words, it must've been something valuable. "What are you doing? Shouldn't you be leaving for the market?”

“We were! I was almost out of the Silvergrove and I realized— _aha!_ — I’d almost forgotten my notebook.” There was a final slam of a door, and Ethari appears at the top of the stairs. Eyes widening, Runaan jumps out of the way as Ethari charges down and beelines for the door. 

“Oh,” Runaan says, so taken aback by his husband’s spastic behavior that he doesn’t really know what else to say.

As Ethari reaches for the door handle, he pauses. Then, in a flash, he’s back at Runaan’s side, planting feather light kisses on Runaan’s forehead and cheek before he can react. Each imprint leaves his skin tingling, and Ethari blesses him with so many kisses that Runaan's entire face is on fire. 

“There,” Ethari says when he’s done, finally still enough for Runaan to get a good look at him. “You’re brilliant, moonlight. Whatever planning needs to be done will get done if you’re the one working on it.” He sighs, taking one last loving look at Runaan, before his eyes light up again with frantic excitement. “I have to go,” he calls, and is out the door in the next second.

“Right.” Runaan blinks at the spot where his husband stood mere moments ago, a hand absently rubbing at the spots where Ethari had pressed his lips into his skin. A blaze of motivation is suddenly ignited within him, and as he scrambles for a clean sheet of paper and whatever remains of his pencil, for the first time that day Runaan has a plan worth writing down.


	5. a sudden kiss

_Sudden kisses. In the middle of a sentence. Catching the other’s lips and pulling them into your arms._

* * *

That night, the Silvergrove is cold. Despite the sticky summer air, Ethari can’t stop the shivers that run down his spine or the prickling under his skin. In front of him he can see his home, a single candle placed on the windowsill that shines like a beacon of comfort and hope. He picks up his pace, eager to be out away from the prying judgment of the other elves.

When he enters, he finds Runaan sitting alone at the table. It’s a shocking sight to see him, the leader of assassins, sitting so defeatedly. He doesn’t even look up when Ethari closes the front door behind him.

“Where is—” he starts to ask, but Runaan merely tilts his head toward the stairs, and Ethari understands.

Moving quietly, he sits at the table across from Runaan. A heavy solemn silence settles around them, suffocating and disorienting.

Runaan breaks the silence first. Looking across the table, he says almost pleadingly, “they couldn’t have… they _wouldn’t_ have…”

“I know, moonlight, I know.” Ethari tries for reassuring, but even he knows that it seems hopeless. “I don’t understand…”

“Tiadrin and Lain would never,” Runaan insists. His eyes search Ethari’s, looking for something that Ethari cannot give him. “I’ve known them since we were kids, and they would never abandon their post like that."

“Runaan, I understand. I was friends with them too—”

“ _Was_?” Runaan asks quietly, harshly. He’s no longer looking at Ethari, choosing to stare at the patterns in the wood that constructs the table instead.

Ethari releases a heavy breath. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “If they’re still alive, I want an explanation. But we don’t know where they are, Runaan, and all we do know is that after the dark mage left, the egg is gone, and Tiadrin and Lain are nowhere to be found.”

“Exactly!” At Ethari’s panicked glimpse toward the staircase, Runaan’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper again. “We don’t know where they are, or what the full story is. What if, I don’t know”—he runs a frustrated hand through his hair; his braids are loose and uneven—“what if they’re stuck in one of the dark mage’s traps?” Runaan raises his fists to pound the table, then thinks better of it. Instead, he sets them quietly on the smooth wood and clenches his fists so hard they’re nearly white. “We can’t just _ghost_ them!”

Reaching across the table, Ethari gathers Runaan’s hands into his own. “They’ve already done it,” he murmurs softly, as if his tone will protect the heartbroken elf before him from the painful news. “I walked past the entire village—”

Runaan snarls and rips his hands from Ethari’s grasp. He’s on the verge of saying something, something angry and venomous, when Ethari speaks again.

“I know you’re hurting, Runaan. But these elves”—he gestures vaguely toward the window upon which the candle is burning low—“are the ones you’ve sworn to protect. You have every right to be angry and to feel pain, but you need to watch what you say and do. You know how fickle we can be; imagine what would become of you if it got out that you’d rather support Tiadrin and Lain, who have been _ghosted_ , rather than your village.”

He can see the moment when the fight drains from Runaan’s tense body. His husband slumps against the support of his chair and breathes out shakily. Ethari gives him a few moments to recover, then asks, “what of Rayla?”

Runaan swallows at the sound of their adopted daughter, and visibly composes himself. “She’s been upstairs ever since we got the news,” he says in a tone so different he’s appeared to have become an entirely different elf than the one Ethari had seen a minute ago. They both look upward, like they can see through the floor.

“Are you sure—”

“Don’t worry, she’s still there.” Runaan offers Ethari a sad smile and places his hands back in his. “I would know if she tried to sneak out.”

Ethari bites his lips, still glancing at the ceiling. “What do we do?” he whispers brokenly. He looks back at his husband. “How do we help her?”

“We let her grieve,” Runaan says simply. He, too, is glancing toward the part of the ceiling that doubles as the floor to Rayla’s bedroom. “We treat her like we do for parties that return from less than successful missions.”

“Runaan,” Ethari says tentatively. “She’s a _child_. You and your assassins understand the consequences of your jobs; can rationalize through complex things like death and betrayal. But you cannot expect Rayla to be able to go through that process the same way adult elves do!”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Runaan says gently. “Of course, we need to let her grieve in whatever manners grief manifests for her. That goes without saying. But equally as importantly, we need to remind her as often as we can that she is loved. Not just because she’s a member of our community with a promising future, or because she’ll make a fine assassin one day—these are all true, yes. But we need to show her we love her because she’s our daughter.”

There’s pressure behind his eyes and a tingling in his throat. Ethari finds himself lost for words, so surprised by his husband’s sudden shift from furious on behalf of his friends to fiercely protective of their daughter. Even with the events of the night, Ethari is filled with love and—dare he believe it?—hope. Wordlessly, without breaking contact with their hands, Ethari walks to Runaan’s side of the table.

“What,” Runaan demands, brows furrowed as he follows his husband’s approach. “Do you disagree—”

He’s cut off as he’s pulled into a firm kiss. Runaan’s never felt this before; a kiss so passionate yet so devastated, so loving yet heartbroken. The mass of destructive swirling thoughts in his mind begin to slow, the tension in his body slowly melting away as Ethari settles into his lap, lips still locked. Ethari’s presence—the weight of his body, the smell of his soap, the familiar gliding of his tongue—roots him in this moment, this instance where for just a brief second he thinks that everything will be okay.

And just like that, reality come crashing down on him. He breaks away, chest slightly heaving, and can’t meet Ethari’s eyes.

“Hey,” the elf in his lap says, curling a finger below his chin and tilting his head so that he’s forced to look into loving amber eyes. “We’re going to figure this out together,” Ethari promises. “Together.”

“Okay,” Runaan whispers, and pulls Ethari close.


	6. a neck kiss

_Neck kisses. Fluttering down necks to the collar bone. Dusting over the breastbone and staying there._

* * *

Rayla giggles as she places the last of the freshly washed moonberries into a dish, taking extra care to ensure the pyramid of fruit doesn’t topple over when she moves it onto the loaded tray. “I can’t believe Runaan is _still_ sleeping!”

“All the better for us,” Ethari whispers back with a grin and a wink. “All done?”

“All done!”

Ethari presses a quick kiss to her forehead and pats her on the shoulder. “Thank you for your help, Rayla. Now go on, I hear the Adoraburrs are particularly stackable this early in the morning.”

She shoots him a toothy smile and bounds out the door. Ethari has a fleeting thought of her returning with her body weight’s worth of Adoraburrs, and sighs fondly. That’ll be something to deal with later; a small price to pay for a few moments of privacy. Gathering up the tray in his hand, Ethari starts up the stairs.

In the bedroom, Runaan is indeed still asleep. The sheets are tangled in his legs, leaving his chest exposed—not that Ethari minded at all. He sets the tray down gently on the table beside their bed and slowly settles onto the mattress, trying not to disturb his husband’s light slumber. Still, despite his careful movements, Runaan stirs. With a quick inhale, Runaan turns onto his back, his head lolling to one side, before going still again.

The sight of Runaan’s exposed neck captures Ethari’s attention. Powerful and muscular, yet elegant—Ethari smirks. Not quite what he'd planned, but that’ll work, too.

As lightly as he can manage, he lays down beside his husband, resting his head briefly on the pillow to gaze lovingly at his slack features. It’s not often that Runaan sleeps this much, and while Ethari adores him while he’s awake, there’s something about the serenity of a sleeping Runaan that does funny things to his heart. Though it pains him to wake the slumbering elf, there’s a pile of toasted bread and moonberries waiting to be consumed, and they’re best enjoyed while fresh.

Ethari starts slow, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the junction of Runaan’s neck and jaw. When Runaan doesn’t react, he trails lower, adding nips and bites as he slinks down Runaan’s body. He pays particular attention to the hollow of Runaan’s throat as he’s particularly sensitive there, and is rewarded with the tiniest whimper. Grinning, Ethari follows up with a lick across his collarbone which produces a light sigh.

When Runaan’s eyes finally dart open, he finds Ethari straddling his hips, pressing his lips to the skin between his ribs. “Ethari?” he manages after several attempts.

“Oh, hello,” Ethari responds innocently. Runaan shudders at the friction as Ethari repositions himself, his face now level with Runaan’s neck. With a cheeky wink, he lowers his head and attaches himself firmly to the spot where Runaan’s neck turns into his shoulder.

“Moon above,” Runaan breathes, tilting his head further to give him more space. “What’s— _ah_ —what’s all this?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten,” Ethari murmurs into his ear, releasing his skin with a soft pop. He trails back up Runaan’s neck, ending with a quick peck at the corner of Runaan’s lips, laughing quietly at Runaan’s pout when he doesn’t give him a proper kiss.

“Forgotten what,” Runaan says distractedly, eyes lingering on Ethari's mouth.

“Oh, you,” Ethari says affectionately. Giving in, he presses his lips to Runaan’s. “Happy anniversary,” he whispers against Runaan’s skin.

He feels when his words sink in, feels Runaan’s mouth open in a surprised _oh_ , of which he happily takes advantage.

“I brought you breakfast,” Ethari says after a few minutes, reluctantly lifting himself from the elf beneath him. “Rayla helped, actually.”

Runaan’s eyes widen in pleasant surprise. “She did? How did you get her to wake up so early?”

“She adores you,” Ethari says simply, watching as the desire and lust in Runaan’s eyes morph into something tender, something akin to fatherly adoration. “She washed the berries while I toasted the bread, so don't be surprised if there's still a branch in that pile. Here, let me get it, you should have it while it’s still warm and fresh.”

He brushes Runaan's bare skin as he reaches over him, and Runaan's eyes burn again. He unabashedly wraps a leg around Ethari’s waist. “Where’s Rayla now?” Runaan asks.

“Playing with the Adoraburrs." Ethari tries to get up, his outstretched arm mere inches from the breakfast tray, but Runaan wraps a second leg around him. “Stop it,” Ethari laughs, swatting playfully at the powerful thighs that hold him in place. “Your food—”

“Will still be there when we’re done,” Runaan growls, and he pulls Ethari back down to him.


	7. a nose kiss

_Nose kisses. A small peck. Kind and sweet. An adoring look for the other in their eyes._

* * *

To Moonshadow elves, the arrival of autumn signifies a lot of things. First and foremost, it means that winter is coming, and so the elves begin their harvest and last minute gardening before the cold sweeps into the Silvergrove. The Festival of the Autumn Moon occurs when the trees are ablaze with the colors of a roaring fire, and as the elves dance beneath the glowing full moon, the brittle leaves jitter feebly from their branches, threatening to float to the ground where they'll become the percussion for elven dancing tunes. 

For Runaan, however, the arrival autumn is not so joyous. The looming shadow of icy winters is usually what motivates humans to wander near Xadian territory, hoping to find a cure for their famines or a magical solution for staying warm. At first it was only small parties of desperate humans, unaffiliated with any kingdom, who were easily scared off by letting loose a few arrows. In the past few years, however, Runaan has noticed an increased number of armored horses and velvet banners parading through the forests along the Xadian border; to add insult to injury, these sanctioned groups brought their own weapons: dark magic. 

With each passing day, Runaan receives news of more and more human sightings. While most of the humans only prowl along the border, a few dare to cross over, and those are the cases in which Runaan must personally become involved. Otherwise, he sends out smaller scouting missions, asking his assassins to merely survey and monitor the humans' movements. 

"Do not reveal yourselves," he tells the group he's about to send out. It's the same speech every time, but for the sake of his newer assassins, he chooses to be redundant. "As soon as they cross the border you do what you must. But until then, let's save our weapons and our strength for more important things. Understood?"

"Yes, Runaan," they echo. 

Looking each of them in the eye, he gives a solemn nod, and the elves vanish through the illusion that protects the Silvergrove. Runaan waits until the last of them fully disappears, before turning away. 

The sky is barely light as he leaves the assassin's pavilion, heading back to his home. For some reason, the human rulers send their scouts out at night, as if they didn't realize that the Xadian forces who guarded the border were Moonshadow elves. _Moon_ shadow elves. "What morons," he scoffs. 

Rayla greets him with a smile when he walks through the door. "Welcome home," she says, putting away the whetstone with which she was sharpening her dagger and rising to her feet in one fluid motion. 

"No, no, stay put," he says as he unbuckles his boots and leaves them by the door. "Taking good care of your weapons, I see."

She beams a little brighter at the obvious approval in his voice, then winces sheepishly. "I, well... I lost my whetstone, actually. I was going to ask Ethari to help me sharpen them, but he told me he was too busy, so"—she flips the whetstone into the air and catches it—"he gave me this. I think he was trying to tell me to go away, but in a nice way."

"Sounds like Ethari." Runaan looks around the otherwise empty house. "He's not back yet?"

Rayla shakes her head. "Nope," she says, enunciating the end of a word with a _pop_. "When I left the smithy he told me not to wait for him."

"Hm." Crossing over to the kitchen, Runaan examines the dirty plate in the sink basin. "You've already eaten?"

"Yeah. I have some leftovers if you want some? It's not as good as when Ethari makes it, but it's not so bad."

His eyes slide over to the bowl of tossed greens and roots. "Thank you, Rayla. I'll take some to go."

She watches curiously as he scrapes some of the food into a separate bowl and wraps it with a piece of waxy cloth. "Where are you going?" 

Grabbing a fork and an orange from the bowl of fruit, Runaan stacks the meal in his hands and walks back to the door, pausing to ruffle Rayla's hair as he passes her. "Ethari's going to be a while," he explains with a small smile. Then, at her confused expression, he elaborates, "more humans prowling around means more missions, which means we need more weapons and whatnot. I'll drop this off and be right back."

A look of understanding slides onto her face. "Tell him I said thank you for the whetstone," Rayla calls as the door closes behind him. 

In the quiet of the evening sky, Runaan takes a deep breath. He can smell the crisp leaves, the brisk wind, and the ever so subtle hint of ash coming from the smithy. His parcel in hand, he sets off to find his beloved.

Ethari doesn't even look up when Runaan pushes through the heavy double doors of the forge. He's bent over his workbench, so engrossed in whatever sort of enchantment he's doing that even the scattered whispers of the other blacksmiths doesn't distract him. Waving a hand at the other elves, who all looked up when he entered, Runaan weaves between messy desks and piles of scraps until he's standing next to Ethari.

Runaan waits patiently—the last time he surprised Ethari while he was working, they'd both nearly lost two limbs each—until with a great sigh of relief Ethari straightens his back and stretches with a tired but pleased smile.

"Oh," he says when he catches sight of Runaan beside him. "Hello, love."

"Busy day?" Runaan asks. He steps next to Ethari and lays a reassuring hand on his muscular shoulder.

Ethari only laughs. “Autumn,” he says simply, and Runaan gets it—with more missions comes more weapons, and more weapons means more time in the forge for Ethari. Afterall, it takes a village to support an assassin, let alone a whole troop of them.

“I figured as much. Here, I brought you some food.” Runaan sets the parcel on the cleaner end of Ethari’s work bench.

“Moon bless you,” Ethari exhales reverently. He stands and reaches for the dinner, not caring that he sends sheaths of paper and scraps of metal onto the floor. “How did you have time to make this? I thought you had scouts going out tonight?”

Runaan’s pleasantly surprised that Ethari even remembered. “Rayla made this, actually. She also wants me to thank you for her new whetstone.”

Ethari chuckles. “Poor thing,” he says as he unpacks the leftovers. “She came at such a busy time I barely had the chance to throw the whetstone at her. Good thing she has quick reflexes.” He spots the orange and grins, his eyes sparkling but exhausted.

“I’ll leave you be.” Runaan glances around Ethari’s workbench. “Looks like you’ll be staying up all night.”

The smith sighs. “One of those nights, moonlight.” Then, before he can overthink it, Ethari presses a light kiss on Runaan’s lips. It’s chaste, given the onlookers and his dirty apron, but as he leans their foreheads together, tips of noses _just_ touching, he hopes Runaan will understand. One look into those bright adoring turquoise eyes and Ethari knows that he does.

“Come home soon.” The words tickle as they flow through the air.

“I’ll do my best,” Ethari promises.

Runaan steps back and offers him one last lingering smile—meant for Ethari’s eyes and Ethari’s eyes only. Then, schooling his features into a politely blank mask, the assassin walks through the door and disappears into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp, I hope you and your loved ones are safe and healthy. everything is taking a toll on everyone, so please be kind to yourselves and each other :) 
> 
> speaking of which, there's only one more chapter and it's gonna be a _doozy_ to write sooooooo if you would like to leave kudos or a comment it would be greatly appreciated!


	8. a frustrated kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello and welcome to the last chapter!!
> 
> there will be some angst—okay, it's basically _all_ angst—so take that as you will. for the ultimate angst experience, I would recommend listening to [_Heartbloom_](https://youtu.be/rs4s5DUnrAg) from the 3rd season soundtrack on repeat :') I've linked the [youtube video](https://youtu.be/rs4s5DUnrAg), but you can also find it on spotify and probably other sites too.
> 
> thanks for reading up to this point!!
> 
> _as always, kudos and comments are immensely appreciated :) plus, come say hi on[tumblr](https://toesalignedarch.tumblr.com/)!_

_Frustrated kisses. Knowing that one has to go; enveloping their arms around the other and holding foreheads together._

* * *

Runaan pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes out slowly. This is not how he wanted it to go. The only good thing so far is that Rayla has already gone outside to wait with his other assassins, but that’s barely a good thing. In front of him, stalking back and forth around the front door like an angry banther trying to corner its prey, is Ethari. He’s still in his uniform, hasn’t even taken off his boots since he slammed the front door shut. Runaan hasn’t seen his husband look this agitated in many years, and it would have been a cause for concern if only Ethari could be reasonable for just one moment.

Finally, the tense silence is broken. Ethari whirls to face the armored assassin, eyes ablaze. “You should have consulted me before—"

“And why would I consult you?” Runaan’s face is blotchy, frustration manifesting in furrowed brows and clenched teeth.

“I’m your _husband_!” Ethari exclaims in exasperation. “You put _our_ daughter on a mission— _this_ mission—and didn’t think to tell me about it? You expected me to just accept this fact as I’m enchanting her lotus?” His face is also flushed, his short hair sticking up at odd angles from the number of times he’s run a trembling hand through the white locks. Just this morning they would have joked about it. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

Runaan rolls his eyes. “We never discuss who’s going on missions Why are you suddenly so interested in who I pick? You’ve never cared about who—”

“Because I leave that up to you,” Ethari seethes. “I trusted your judgment, trusted that you knew who would be best for each mission. But that was before you decided on your own to assign this mission to our daughter!”

“You don’t think she can do it?” Runaan’s voice has gone quiet, a silent challenge.

“I think you put her in for the wrong reasons.” He ignores Runaan’s angry growl. “She’s too young, Runaan. And she’s no killer. You’re setting her up for failure—”

A harsh scoff erupts from Runaan before he can stop it. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he snarls. “You haven’t seen her during training. She’s the best recruit we have, and I say that as someone who can separate my emotions from my work, unlike some _others_.”

Ethari swallows stiffly. “My sincerest apologies for not being able to suppress my emotions,” he bites back. “Forgive me for caring about Rayla, for questioning if your newest opportunity for her is—how did you put it?—'a chance to prove herself’ or a suicide mission!”

“I’m trying to give Rayla the chance to prove she’s not her parents!” Ethari’s eyes widen by a fraction and Runaan registers he’s being too loud. Lowering his voice, Runaan continues, “you’ve seen how they treat her, you’ve seen how she carries herself now. I just want the best for her, and that’s letting her fulfil her duties as an assassin.”

“Runaan, please.” Ethari’s voice is so pleading that it breaks his heart. The smith deflates, his bravado seeping out of him like a dam has broken within him. “I see where you’re coming from and I want the best for Rayla too, I really do, but she’s far too young to be on a mission as dangerous as this. You never give brand new assassins these kinds of missions! No, let me finish”—Runaan’s mouth snaps shut again—“Rayla is talented, yes, and she’s eager to begin her life as a young adult in Moonshadow society, but don’t you think you’re letting your ulterior motives cloud your judgment?”

The assassin’s eyes narrow at his accusation. “I would never compromise a mission,” Runaan hisses. “Rayla’s proven herself more than capable of keeping up with seasoned assassins.”

“In a training setting,” Ethari argues. “She’s never been too far outside the Silvergrove, let alone a human kingdom! You know what the people of Katolis are like. If she gets captured…”

“She won’t be,” Runaan says in a tone that leaves no room for questions. “I’ll make sure she returns home safely.”

“I admire your confidence, but are you willing to stake your life on it?”

“Of course.” Runaan sounds slightly indignant, as if betrayed that Ethari would think to question his dedication. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t.

“And are you willing to risk hers?”

Runaan’s eyes harden. “She knows what she’s getting herself into. She knows about the dangers.”

An uncomfortable silence surrounds the pair of elves. Ethari wants to keep arguing, wants to convince Runaan that he should have Rayla stay behind. But he can imagine his husband’s retorts—“ _and crush her hopes of redeeming herself? Are you sure you have her best interests at heart or are you merely a coward_?”—and he doesn’t think he can survive that kind of wound. Runaan won’t look him in the eye, choosing instead to stare pointedly at the front door.

Suddenly, an excited voice floats through the solid wood. The sound of their adopted daughter jars both elves out of their anger, leaving only frustration behind. Rayla’s chattering happily to her companions, her voice fading away as quickly as it had arrived. When Runaan finally meets Ethari’s gaze, the assassin looks resigned.

“I have to go. And she’s coming with me, whether or not we have your blessing.”

Ethari sighs, resisting the urge to run another tense hand through his hair. He was afraid it would come to this. Steeling himself for Runaan’s reaction, he looks unwaveringly into proud turquoise eyes. “You do not have my blessing.” Ethari swallows as Runaan's eyes narrow dangerously, and forces himself to finish his thought. “But you do have my heart.”

Judging by his rapid blinks, Runaan is slightly taken aback. But his icy demeanor melts just a little bit, and that’s all Ethari needs to see. Stepping forward quickly, before he can lose his nerve, Ethari wraps his husband in a tight hug and leans down to press their lips together. The kiss is chaste but Ethari hopes it conveys all that he wants it to—that despite his anger and his fear, he’s choosing to stand with Runaan.

Maybe Runaan gets the unspoken message, maybe he doesn’t. When their lips break apart, Runaan’s eyes are hard to read. There are so many unanswered questions, so many unaddressed thoughts, but for the briefest moment as they stand enveloped in each other’s arms, foreheads touching gently, it almost feels like there isn’t an ominous cloud swirling frantically around them.

“I should…” Ethari’s voice trails off as he glances toward the door, toward the reflecting pool and a group of waiting assassins that beckon his name.

“Right,” Runaan says with a sharp exhale, taking a step back. Ethari’s hands remain in midair for a moment, a look of concerned longing etched on his face, but Runaan’s eyes have already closed. When he opens them again Ethari can see the actual shift in posture as Runaan reembodies the fearless assassin leader he knows and loves. “You go first, Ethari. I’ll be right with you.”

He sees Ethari hesitate, knows why he doesn’t want to leave: as soon as they step outside the boundaries of their shared home, they are no longer just husbands—they become skilled craftsman and stoic assassin. At home, surrounded by the physical proof of their love, is where Ethari can properly bid Runaan farewell, where he can let the tears well in his eyes. Out there, when Runaan is surrounded by his team and watched by the entire Silvergrove, Ethari must become a colleague first, and a worried husband second.

“Go on, moonlight,” Runaan encourages gently. He gives Ethari a soft nudge. “Rayla’s out there, and she needs you.”

Ethari’s eyes flicker to the intricate metal flowers tucked carefully into his satchel, then back to Runaan. He opens his mouth, as if he’s about to whisper some reassuring sweet nothings into Runaan’s ear like he usually does, but the bitter taste of their argument must still coat his tongue. Instead, Ethari sighs and puts on a brave face. “See you in a bit,” he says voice steady enough to fool any other elf. Not Runaan, though.

“See you in a bit,” Runaan confirms with a solemn nod, and watches the light of his life walk out the door.


End file.
